


All the Way from the Dark

by Macx



Series: Firewall [13]
Category: Person of Interest (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Established Relationship, M/M, Psychic Bond, Series, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-13 11:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond has a problem. No, he didn't die this time. The mission was a bust and he barely made it out alive, but now, afterwards, his emotional responses are running haywire.<br/>Yes, it's a problem.<br/>Especially since his darker side reacts quite viciously to anyone but Q.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the wait on the new part. I had a medium-sized writer's block. I had the story lined out, but I just didn't find a way into writing the words. M second set of eyes concerning grammar and plot is currently on vacation and only got the beginning done, so please be patient with us :)

James Bond stood in the underground shower room with brick walls around him, no sunlight, just bulbs that lit up the small room. He pulled his sweaty shirt off, flinging it into a corner.

He ached. His whole body was radiating pain, but a sharp pull came from his left side where a scarring injury was bright and red against the tanned skin. He looked down at his injuries, grimacing. Blunt fingertips ran over the marks. One of the healing cuts had broken open throughout the weights training.

Bond cursed softly under his breath.

The shower room was not frequented by other agents or personnel. At least not at this late hour. It still stemmed from the time the underground bunker had only been an emergency control room. Now that MI6 was permanently underground, everything had been renovated and additions had been made, like a shiny, new shower section.

James Bond sometimes sought out the old facilities, especially when he was injured during a mission, failed or successful. It didn’t matter. He used the Spartan exercise room and took his showers in the older areas.

Of course the area was under surveillance, like all of the bunker and the maze of tunnels.

Stepping in front of the cracked mirror, Bond examined the scars and the reopened cut. He knew what had ripped into him and it had been agony at the time, until he had blacked out.

It had been his third international mission after the events in Kazakhstan. M had tested the waters, so to speak, giving him only national missions first. It had been almost like a vacation and Q had only raised his eyebrows when the Double-Oh had remarked on it. Nothing too straining, nothing too bad, nothing really exciting.

Then he had been back in the pool of available, certified agents for everything a Double-Oh could get.

There had been no problems.

Until now.

Bond grimaced.

Because of an overly eager junior agent who had functioned as his contact. Fresh from basic training, an even worse shot than Moneypenny, and a lot less reliable in a fight. At least Moneypenny had known where to point the weapon; this guy…

Bond growled softly.

They had lost the mark. He had lost the junior agent. He had almost lost himself. He was sure he hadn’t died. The sensation had been different when he had opened his eyes. He had crawled back out of this abyss and he had made it back, but it had been hell. There had been no contact with home, with MI6, with Q. He had lost his ear piece, his phone, everything.

In the middle of nowhere, critically injured, bleeding, in agony.

Bond had been in such situations before and he had been trained to survive.

He had survived.

The mission had gone to hell and he had survived. He didn’t actively mourn the passing of a young agent, but he regretted his death. It had been a human life and Bond knew he had been indirectly responsible for him.

He let his fingers brush over the long scar and bared his teeth in a snarl. The cut had bled sluggishly and it would be closing again. He had quite some experience with this. Unfortunately.

Bond turned on the water and splashed some into his face. It dripped off his face, down his chest, tracking over defined muscles and skin.

The darkness was roiling through him, a vicious, sharp-edged thing that had been with him all his life. With the death of his parents the phoenix had been born. Kincade had once remarked that it had made a man out of a boy; in reality it had broken through the shield that surrounded his darker nature and had let it crawl out of the darkness.

Bond hadn’t known what he was until after his first death. That had been through poison. He had survived. He had died and he had come back. The phoenix had snarled and hissed and spat and fought, and he had been alive again.

Right now that feral edge was back. It was snarling at everything and no amount of physical exercise had been able to dampen it. He had run himself close to exhaustion to control the energy inside him, but it wasn’t working.

Not this time.

The phoenix wasn’t satisfied.

He hadn’t died, but the energy was there, like after a normal resurrection, and it was frightening and empowering in one. It raised his senses to a level that was both painful and exhilarating. He was this creature, had become one with the darkness because of his fiery death in Kazakhstan, and because Q had pulled him back.

With power came something else.

The hunger.

It was exhausting and terrible, sharp and angry, and it pushed against his sanity.

Bond curled his fingers like claws around the sink. Blue eyes, pale like ice and hard as granite, stared back at him from the mirror.

The phoenix.

Savage, primal, a predator.

And jealous. Burning with jealousy.

The Double-Oh hissed angrily.

The emotions were unfounded. They weren’t real; weren’t his. They were borne out of an instinctive, primordial thing that didn’t rely on human logic, didn’t analyze facts like James Bond would. It simply regarded the world from a predator’s view, saw its mate, saw the others around its mate, saw the attention its mate gave those who weren’t its bonded.

It seethed, furious, and Bond was fighting against the instinct and the darkness that threatened to rise.

This had never happened before.

This was… frightening.

He pushed away from the sink and walked into the shower room. There were five shower heads, five stalls, and he switched on one. Bond stripped off his sweat pants and stepped under the spray of water.

The burn was still there, getting worse instead of better, and he closed his eyes. Damnit! Hands resting against the cool tiles, head hanging between his shoulder, he tried to let it run its course.

It didn’t.

The darkness hissed through him, ferocious, hot, unstoppable. The energy inside him wasn’t getting any less, even after the long work-out session, even after swimming lane after lane, he hadn’t exhausted himself to a point where the phoenix was manageable.

Pale blue eyes opened and stared at the floor. Bond was breathing hard, trying to fight his instinctive reaction to the latest events, to the failed mission.

Jealousy.

Water pounded against his neck and back. Muscles flexed and the ache from the injuries pierced through the fog.

This was bad.

Really, really bad.

tbc...


	2. Chapter 2

James Bond was… jealous?

Q would have laughed if not for the fact that it might provoke the preternatural into something violent. And if not for the fact that it was something completely unexpected and new. James had never been jealous or any kind of related emotion; Q had never been jealous either.

Recently debriefed after a mission, fresh out of the catacombs that housed the exercising facilities, the Double-Oh agent was lurking at the edge of Q-branch, blue eyes staring hard at the quartermaster. Dressed in black slacks, a black dress shirt and an equally black suit jacket – no tie – Bond even looked like a savage predator, giving off all the vibes to keep everyone at more than an arm’s length.

Actually, his whole department was giving the man a wide birth.

Pitiful.

Yes, granted, the stare was frightening. Those wintery eyes were even colder than normal and the pinprick of heat came from the phoenix, not his human side. No one aside from M, Tanner and Q knew what Bond was preternaturally speaking, but whoever looked at him would have to be blind and a fool not to detect the otherness. Right now it was plain to see.

Jealous.

Prickly and volatile and still seething over a mission that had nearly failed because of the wrong intel.

And jealous.

Q found his curiosity pricked, especially since little eddies of that new emotion, that new condition, was echoing around their connection. Q wasn’t telepathic, but he had a sixth sense when it came to his agent by now. More than a vague feeling. This was the firm knowledge that the other man was seriously bothered by something that had never happened before.

Bond gave every single person approaching Q, male or female, old or young, a dark, glaring look, narrowed eyes following the person in question until they scurried away. It was like an alpha male warning away intruders that had dared to venture into its territory.

Very curious.

The phoenix was an alpha, no doubt about it. It was a violent, vicious predator that could scare even a werewolf into submission if it ever fully rose from behind its human façade.

And yes, of course, it was territorial in a way.

But Bond had never shown signs like that before.

Q wondered what had happened. He was doubly thankful for the fact that Bond wasn’t dragging him off somewhere. At least those impulses were still under control.

But how much longer?

He knew he was testing the phoenix’s limits quite dearly, but the man had to live with it. Q wasn’t someone to drop everything just because his anchor was having an emotional fit over something or other.

He linked into the MI6 mainframe and quickly scanned over the mission file. There was nothing that hinted at Bond actually dying and by now Q thought he knew the signs should it have happened. There was no report from Medical. Of course. The man was notorious for avoiding Medical like the plague.

Was it even mission related? Had something occurred that had set off this reaction? And if yes, what had it been? Had there been an encounter with possibly another preternatural?

Bond slept with whoever appealed to him, man or woman. If it was necessary to achieve the objective, he would bed whoever he needed. If he had to blow off steam while trapped behind enemy lines, if he had to sate the burning hunger after a particularly narrow escape, adrenaline rushing through his body, he would find an attractive mate. Bond wasn’t exclusive and never had been.

Had there been such an encounter? One with a possibly bad outcome? Not that that would be a first. James had been nearly killed by his marks before.

Q wasn’t bothered by his partner’s womanizing. It was the preternatural nature. It was necessary for him to function. He knew it all, accepted it all, and he was clearly aware of his own position.

Q was balance and safety and home, and he was what the ferocious creature Bond was wanted the most. He was what he needed, especially when shit hit the fan and Bond died.

But not this time.

Q knew his agent had been injured and had made his way back without the help of an extraction team. And the junior agent assigned to him had died. There was nothing on his injuries or what might have occurred in particular. There was no mention of anyone else involved, though Bond would probably keep some of it out of the report if it concerned his own status as a preternatural.

The darkness was seething, lashing out, rattling at the chains Bond had on himself. The pretense of humanity lasted only so long and Q was usually there to balance the other man.

In his own way.

One that left him achingly sore, wanting more, needing more, sating the hunger he felt himself and that was just a weak echo of what Bond was going through. He faced the primal force and survived. He brought 007 back, was his handler on so many levels, was responsible for keeping the fissures in James’ soul from tearing apart what was left.

He might be the foremost expert in the field of the phoenix, he mused. No other phoenix was currently known and no one had ever written a comprehensive book on them. Q discovered a lot of things as their relationship grew more and more complex. Sometimes he wondered if some aspects of it were simply Bond or if it was the phoenix’s nature.

What he did know was that a rebirth tore at the man’s soul, let the darkness inside him that made him such a perfect, ruthless killer for Her Majesty’s secret service take over. Since he had no reference material per se, Q didn’t know how often a phoenix could theoretically rise from the dead until it tore them to pieces and they were nothing more than soulless killers.

He simply knew that he had caught his agent in time. The bond was strong; stronger than ever. It had saved the Double-Oh multiple times already. And it had turned into something incredible and undocumented just a few months ago.

Bond was damaged, true. He had died countless times. He was a weapon of destruction and dedicated to serve his country. He jumped into the fray and perished, but he had always clawed himself back out of that darkness. The primal energy was overpowering as it renewed his body, as it healed the damage, leaving behind scars that decorated his skin like a road map.

Some disappeared completely, others remained.

Q wondered if it was a psychological thing, if there was more involved in the scars than simple functionality. Rebirth meant the body was set back. He should be healing all of the damage.

But sometimes things remained, disappearing either slowly or never at all.

Like when he had come back from the dead after Moneypenny had shot him. Q had read the files, the very extensive files. The shoulder had still bothered him. His strength had been waning. The pain had crippled his performance, made his aim unsteady.

And then it was gone.

Q smiled a little. Yes, it was gone because of Q himself. But the fact remained that the rebirth was a mixture of instinct and psyche. And with the fading psychological stability, with the weakening hold on his preternatural side, Bond had been tethering on the edge of the abyss just before the prior M had died.

Not any more.

No longer as catastrophically close as before.

There was a sharp pull deep down in his very soul, a part he had come to associate with the psychic link. It was angry and dark and demanding. Q looked up and met the glacially blue eyes, read the fury in them, the tightly controlled nightmare that was the phoenix looking at him.

No longer disguised.

Open and primal and for everyone to see, though no one dared to look. Q’s underlings followed their own instincts and ducked and tried not to get noticed by the lethal predator.

Q had seen that expression before. Right after Bond had made it back from Kazakhstan. Q would never forget those days, the coroner’s report about a burned body found in a car accident that Q knew had been James Bond. He would never forget the expression in those clear blue eyes when his agent had made it back from the ashes.

The phoenix used a tremendous amount of that preternatural energy to survive and it had to go somewhere, bleed it off, or it would tear itself to pieces again. Back before Q, it had been alcohol, drugs, women, dangerous games. They all had helped with the release.

And he went back on missions again.

Courted death.

Won.

Lost.

Felt the pain and welcomed it.

Finding Q as his handler had tamed nothing of the preternatural, but it had piqued its interest. The phoenix had realized that this man was what it needed. It had hungered for the balance that would chase away the madness and the pain, and it had gone after Q before either man had realized just what was happening.

Now the connection was there and nothing could break it.

Like the very thought could make it sing, the bond vibrated, tried to pull him closer, away from work.

He pulled back sharply and Bond almost snarled.

Testing.

Circling.

Looking for a weak spot in its mate and ready to strike. The phoenix was there and it wouldn’t just go away again.

_Interesting_ , Q thought with a calculating look directed at his partner.

He might have to do some damage control soon. Whatever this was, it was eating away at Bond’s control. Fast, like acid, devouring his shields and exposing nerves that would launch a hair-trigger response.

Handling 007 was a responsibility Q gladly carried. In turn James Bond gave him a stability he had never had either. His technopathy was no longer a curse. He had an anchor and he was slowly learning what he could do with it. It was a wondrous journey.

And now Bond was jealous and it was so atypical. Curious.

His mind was already quickly dialing through the mainframe and he had Tanner on the line.

::Bond is in Q branch. We are leaving:: he told the Chief of Staff.

“Is he now?” Tanner replied, sounding almost neutral.

Just almost. There was an undercurrent of tension and it told Q that Bond’s behavior had bled off somewhere else already.

::I’m not on call for the next twenty-four hours:: Q went on as if he was talking about a long-planned day of absence. ::Please inform M. This might be more serious than usual.::

“Has Medical been told?::

Q refrained from snorting. ::Really?:: he only asked.

Bond had already been through a debriefing. If neither Tanner nor M had suspected anything… Yes, his agent was good at hiding injuries, but this was far more than that.

Q went over the mission report, which had already been logged. There was nothing new in there. There was also nothing on Bond’s mental or physical condition at the time of the debriefing. And no one had called to mention that one James Bond, 007, was behaving oddly.

The man had had himself under control until the moment he had entered Q branch and laid eyes on his partner.

Oh well, Q sighed to himself.

“Okay, get him out of here,” Tanner told him, interrupting his thoughts. “Preferably without anyone losing a limb or blood.”

That had Q bite back a humorless smile. His eyes were still on Bond and the preternatural was meeting his gaze with a fierce glow deep inside the wintery eyes.

::Good evening, Mr. Tanner:: the quartermaster only said and hung up. ::I’ll update you and M on developments::

“Keep the private details private,” the Chief of Staff answered wryly.

::Of course::

Q pulled out of the mainframe, logged off and pulled up all his shields. He slowly packed his things and walked over to his agent. He smiled at him, completely at ease with the tension wafting off the other man, handling him like he always did. He wouldn’t give the phoenix a point of attack, nor would he baby the man.

Bond’s expression grew stony. His eyes were unnatural. Almost silvery blue. But nothing about them or the man scared Q. The quartermaster faced him calmly, completely unfazed, aware that he might be the only living human being in the world who could, who wouldn’t cringe and turn away in terror.

“Unbecoming, 007. Completely unbecoming,” he remarked.

It got him a soundless snarl, but the man stalked after him as Q left the silent office.

The quartermaster was not impressed.

 

tbc...


	3. Chapter 3

He knew he was in control right now; had to be. He was holding on to the imaginary leash, the connection between them. He felt the pull of the preternatural creature deep within Bond’s soul, knew it was just waiting for a wrong move, for any kind of mistake, but it wouldn’t catch him with one.

The phoenix was a foreboding shadow, a creature of ferocious nature that was prowling around and unable to release the tension building inside. Sleek, powerful, all sinewy grace that promised a quick and merciless death. All contained in that perfect package of handsomeness and rugged charm.

Q decided to ignore him. Right now he wondered how a grown man could so easily fall back on childish notions of jealousy. Another part reminded him of the events as of late. Too much had happened to James Bond. Too much had happened to the phoenix. This might be the long-term effect he hadn’t considered. Q had suspected delayed reactions of some kind, but possessive behavior? Jealousy? No, not really.

Well, live and learn, he mused.

Again the bond seemed to pull at him in a way it never had before. He felt the presence rise and he pulled at it in his own way, keeping the leash tight, refusing to let go.

Bond’s expression was murderous. The spark was fire encased in ice blue eyes. It was something that was close to going off spectacularly and Q didn’t relish hallway sex or security rushing in.

What could Bond be jealous of anyway? It wasn’t like Q had slept with anyone. He hadn’t so much as kissed anyone else. Not because he was exclusive, simply because maintaining a relationship was too much hassle when it came to his position and employer.

Of course, the phoenix had a deeper claim on him as its mate, but could it feel jealousy? Because this wasn’t James; this was his preternatural side. It was a terrible creature without softer emotions. It knew anger and fury and pain and hunger, but not… well, not anything gentle.

And Q simply accepted it.

Until now.

Now he had a furious phoenix following him like an avenging angel.

He told me he loves me, he mused.

That had been the most unexpected declaration at the time. It had been honest and real and true. It had been breathtaking and touching something deep inside Q that had resonated with the emotions.

James Bond didn’t love. Hadn’t loved since Vesper Lynd. So to feel this emotion… it had to come from the beast inside him too. It had been the phoenix as well as the human who carried its darkness within him.

Maybe the phoenix was a lot more complex than he had thought. Maybe the violent resurrection had meshed the man and the beast even more. Maybe the emotions were bleeding into each other. Maybe…

Q refused to analyze what they had any more deeply.

He felt the powerful presence behind him, felt the, metaphorical, dark wings expand. He could almost feel sharp claws cradling his heart and soul, his very self, ready to tear apart and mutilate and kill an enemy, but still so very gentle in their sharp nature when they caressed Q.

Thankfully they were alone in the tunnels.

“I believe pointing out that Medical would be better suited to help you is a waste of perfectly good time?”

“It is.”

Q sighed silently when he heard the rough, grated words. Like chewing glass and nails, like he hadn’t spoken in a very long time. Cold and quiet and rough.

One more step and he would be over the edge and there would be no coming back.

Q tightened his hold, aware of the nightmare behind him that wanted nothing more than to be given free reign.

Bond was right behind him when they stepped into the elevator, power contained, barely restrained. The jealousy had transformed into an almost open declaration of possessiveness already.

Intriguing.

So far his agent hadn’t staked an open claim on his handler. Their relationship was discrete, though Q wouldn’t have batted an eye if it had gone public.

He couldn’t care less what others thought of him if they knew. It had nothing to do with his performance as head of Q branch. It changed nothing about his abilities.

Bond was a more private person. Hardly anyone knew who he really was, what made him tick, what made him as effective as he was. The few facts known were mostly a cover, half-lies, perfectly construed to shield him from prying eyes.

Q was pushed against the elevator wall and Bond caught his lips in a rough kiss.

He responded.

What red-blooded human wouldn’t? he mused. Bond was a terribly good kisser. Terribly, terribly good.

His mind reached out to the security feed and quickly cleared the recording of that intense moment. No need for anyone to stumble over it. Q also would have to talk to his agent about such public declarations.

Deadly hands slid over his hips, up his sides, down his back to grab his butt. James was suddenly all heat and power and overwhelming sexuality, wanting, needing and barely conscious enough to realize where they were.

Q ended the kiss with a sharp nip at those terribly addictive lips.

They parted and the eyes pinning him down were filled with a dark promise that had him rearrange any plans he might have still had.

The human façade was crumbling fast. The preternatural side was about to take over and Q wouldn’t have that here. His eyes narrowed and he placed his palm flat on Bond’s chest. He didn’t push, but the gesture was clear.

Not here.

The Double-Oh agent bared his teeth in displeasure. The eyes that bore into him were full of possessive hunger. If the man had been a supernatural, able to shift shape, he might be looking at elongated fangs, talons and a predator’s eyes.

As it was, he still looked human.

It was probably the more terrifying of looks.

Q wasn’t afraid of him. He had never been afraid of Bond and never would be. Yes, the preternatural side was growing stronger, demanding retribution, and Q found it faintly amusing.

The phoenix was a demanding partner in so many ways and despite past efforts, none of the women, not even Vesper Lynd, had been able to rise to those demands.

All of them had perished, one way or the other. Killed, lost, disappeared, left.

Q refused to do either. There was too much at stake for the two of them. He needed an anchor. He needed Bond. Bond needed him as balance.

Q didn’t see himself in control of this powerful creature. He was simply one of the few Bond listened to.

Really listened to.

And it was just an added bonus that the more basic connection between them was just as terribly good.

Yes, he was currently keeping the man from losing himself completely, but the quartermaster was under no illusion that he could truly keep Bond from breaking free of his leash.

 

* * *

 

They made it home, but it was a close call. The moment the door shut behind them, the security system fully in place, Bond was all over him. He was simply there, fast as lightning, before Q could decide what the next step should be, what course of action to take.

He found himself pinned to the wall, wrists held in an iron grip, Bond’s mouth crushing down on him, all lips and teeth and tongue. Q fought back, biting at the hungry lips, drawing a growl and a hiss, and Bond was flush against him.

His eyes were barely human, the silver more pronounced, the blue bright and unnatural. Q had the sensation of huge wings spreading over them, black and fiery in their depths. Imaginary, yes. A preternatural couldn’t change shape. Still, it was this energy, this sheer, primal force, something that, if harnessed, would probably be able to power a mid-sized town for a year.

He almost laughed at his thoughts, wild and completely off track and so very fantastic.

There was nothing civil about the next moments as his clothes were opened or removed enough to give James access, and Q groaned into the bite delivered to his throat. There was nothing gentle about the hand wrapped around his prick, pumping him fast and hard. There was nothing elegant about the way he came so quickly, about how Bond pushed back against him and ground against his spent, slick dick. Nothing at all.

And still the phoenix was almost silent, watching him, predatory and dark and hungry. Q looked into its eyes as he grabbed a handful of hard, straining erection.

This hadn’t even taken the edge off.

He squeezed. Bond groaned sharply.

They would be rutting like frenzied bunnies until Q was a limp weight and James would be a mellow, warm mass next to him.

His agent was quite creative when it came to such encounters, especially when the first explosion of need and hunger was gone. He was an accomplished lover and very considerate, even when the vicious beast was clamoring for control. Bond had never hurt him, even when claiming his share, and Q wasn’t a feeble little thing. He could hold his own and he always had.

This hadn’t been the worst he had seen his partner at, though it was the first time that the jealousy had accompanied the intense presence. Maybe he should consider another internet search about preternaturals. Especially the phoenix.

Q leaned in close, teeth nipping at Bond’s chin. “Bed,” he said softly.

Those pale eyes, all intense and almost glowing with that inner fire, were only on him. Singular attention. A predator tracking its prey.

Q kissed him, felt James respond, the contact gentler than before. Then the phoenix stepped back a little and Q led the way.

 

 

There had been times when James Bond had fought his more primal instincts. He had taken several bed partners, he had drunk himself into stupors, he had done all of that and then done it again. Liquor had been his friend. It had been one of the many outlets he had thought could manage his darker nature. It had numbed the pain, had made the rebirth bearable. Willing bed partners had taken the edge off.

Bond ran his fingers through the dark, wavy hair, messing it up a little. He carefully removed the glasses and looked into the unprotected eyes of his bonded. Amazing, deep eyes, the green intense and alive with emotions. James folded the glasses, Q’s protection against accidentally sliding off into the web should he look into a camera for too long, and placed them on the nightstand.

He leaned down and kissed those inviting lips that opened under him.

Q made a soft sound that went right to his groin. The red-hot anger-hunger-possession-need-want came back with a vengeance. The sound and scent of his quartermaster seemed to lure the phoenix back to the forefront, hungry and needy and so very passionate about this man. Lust tinged his vision and he couldn’t control it.

His quartermaster. His handler. Only his.

Bond was Q’s primary agent, true. But he had been his only one, too. There had never been others and it had appealed to his feral nature.

Q spread his legs, more than ready. James’ fingers prepared him, drawing more soft sounds that only stoked the fire.

The Double-Oh had never been a person for jealousy. He had always taken what he wanted, used it, enjoyed it, gone on. Q was someone who stuck with him, who was there, a voice in his ear, a partner at his side, someone he came home to. He was the head of Q branch and responsible for more than one agent. Still, the phoenix claimed him as his.

Mine.

Pushing himself up over the prone man he guided himself inside and slowly moved, enjoying the tightness, the heat, the feel and taste of Q. Q’s hands clawed into the bed sheet and he groaned into the mattress.

James ran his hands over the slender sides, felt muscles move underneath the slick skin, and he slipped his arms around the lean waist, pulling Q up. The quartermaster inhaled sharply as the angle of entry changed and Bond twitched his hips again.

Pure torture.

And then he finally began to move, slowly, rhythmically, and he felt each thrust, felt Q’s raw lust.

He began to drive deeper into the technopath, who was beyond words. Bond himself knew his limits were about to be sorely tested. He wanted this man so badly, wanted him deep, wanted him to himself, only his alone. He realized how childish and stupid and downright primal that need was, but the phoenix didn’t care.

There was a darkness behind his thoughts, a sheer power that could burn him alive, that could break him, and he fought it with every breath, with every beat of his heart.

Q was his. Q was connected to him, and only Bond could give the technopath the peace he needed.

Jealousy screamed through him again, obscuring his thinking, muddling his mind.

Mine!

He tried to push back the darkness, the phoenix rising again and trying to take over. He wasn’t just a vessel for the preternatural horror that was part of his very soul. He was this horror. This was him and he had control over himself. The phoenix wasn’t a conscious thing, a creature with a mind of its own.

It was him.

And he had to…

Bond bit back a scream as the emotions roiled through him, the fiery possessiveness, coupled with the pain and loss of his last mission. His failure. His near-death. That of the junior agent.

He. Had. Failed.

The next thrust became harder, more erratic.

Q hissed softly, but it wasn’t pain, just the need for more. He buried blunt fingernails in Bond’s skin, leaving marks, and the agent smiled ferally.

Deeper. He wanted to go deeper. Possess the man completely.

Mine.

He couldn’t hold back any longer and gave a harsh sob, muffled as he buried his head in Q’s shoulder as he came, the surge overwhelming and hot in its release.

Kissing the sweaty neck, drawing blunt teeth over the hot skin, Bond felt more alive than ever.

Q didn’t last through the aftershocks, Bond’s hand slick with his come, and he pumped the other man until Q squirmed, sensitive and still wanting it in one.

Bond could finally think straight again, the red veil of anger and jealousy and pure hot need had abated. It was like a heavy cloak had fallen off him and he could breathe again. Breathe and think and ignore those sharp instincts with their serrated edge. His mind was clearing more and more, and with the sharpness, the clarity, came the realization that the primal darkness had almost overwhelmed him.

 

tbc...


	4. Chapter 4

Bond felt a surge of panic at the loss of control. He blinked, as if that could focus his gaze even more, and met the dark eyes of his partner.

Q looked well and truly spent. Just looking at him had James want to touch, to caress, to reassure himself and Q in one. His handler moved into Bond’s touch, the half-lidded gaze full of reflected heat.

James leaned over and kissed a naked shoulder, then gave the softening cock one last tug, drawing a low curse that was so unlike Q he had to smirk. He grabbed a towel and cleaned them off. Q glared at him when he played over the sensitive area.

“Bloody bastard,” he muttered.

Pushing back the panic like the professional he was, he concentrated only on the now, on his bonded.

“Hm, but yours.”

The words felt… weird. Like he hadn’t spoken in a long time. He ran his tongue over his lips, as if tasting them helped.

Q looked deliciously disheveled and flushed. And yes, he felt more at ease. The phoenix was appeased, the darkness held at bay. Q was there, all around him, a calming presence and a willing mate.

“You’re a bloody _possessive_ bastard,” Q corrected himself.

Slender but strong arms wrapped around him, held James close as he rested his head on the pale chest. His favorite place. Listening to the calming heartbeat of his partner.

The thing inside him was finally sated, purring with satisfaction, and Bond felt his muscles relax more.

This here, them together, was… nice… warm… safe. Completely safe.

“I don’t mind,” Q went on, voice low and calm and appeasing. “Much. Jealousy is unbecoming, though.” His fingers traced along the lean lines of James’ side.

Bond studied the younger man in bed with him. Q looked relaxed, at ease, but there was a sliver of hardness in his gaze.

“I suspect this has to do with your latest mission?”

He grunted a reply. Maybe. Very likely. Well, probably. Not the mission as such, just the overwhelming amount of emotional energy that hadn’t dissipated completely.

Memories were hazy of that time when he had nearly perished, but sharp and clear and painful of the rest. He had lost a junior agent and he had nearly lost everything else, too. Including his life.

“You didn’t die.”

“No,” he rumbled. Of that the Double-Oh was sure.

Q regarded him silently. “So the surplus of energy was… what remained from last time?”

A nod. Bond didn’t really feel like deeply analyzing what had happened. He could feel the coils of energy licking through him. Right now the level had dropped, but it was far from normal. But James could feel the echoes, was aware of the little thrills of rejuvenation, of the darkness whispering through him.

This wasn’t over.

He simply wished it was.

Q, on the other hand, was very interested in the basics of what had occurred. He was a scientist after all.

“You didn’t feel so overwhelmingly… emotional before?”

He glared at his partner. Q smiled almost angelically.

“I take that as a no.” He looked thoughtful. “So for the past weeks everything was okay, until this mission, where you were injured. And things got… slightly more interesting.” His frown deepened. “You were triggered because of what happened and… Oh.”

There was realization, then a decisive expression crossed the young features.

“I might be the only handler you accept, 007, but that doesn’t mean I can’t handle another agent while you are incommunicado or deep under. I know your instinctual side is currently slightly out of focus, maybe even completely screwed, but you have to bloody well exert control, 007!”

Q’s face was hard, that of his handler, giving the agent an order and expecting him to follow.

Bond scowled. Now that the raging anger was gone, he realized it had been childish. Well, maybe not just a bit; more like a lot. And maybe a bit rash and uncontrolled. Or a lot. A whole lot. Close to tearing anyone apart who might just look too closely at the quartermaster.

According to Q’s expression it had been more than that. According to Q he had been a bloody menace.

True.

Painfully true.

Only training and iron control had kept him from reacting to the events. If he hadn’t just come back to life, if he hadn’t been injured and still aching, this wouldn’t have happened at all, Bond knew. He had had control in the past and he had never felt this much fury over a minor… irritation. That was what it had been. An irritation, coupled with the raw power that hadn’t dispersed after rebirth.

“009 relied on me to get him out of there. I won’t let an agent die because you stake a claim on me. Our work relationship isn’t monogamous, 007.”

He met the brown eyes calmly. “I’m aware of that.”

“I won’t expect celibacy from you either because it’s impossible. I know your job description. I know what it means. You should know that I would never choose anyone else.”

Q sat up and Bond had to tear his eyes away from the bright marks on his partner’s skin.

His.

Only his.

“I do my job, 007. My job is the quartermaster of MI6. I hadn’t been compromised. 009’s handler had been. I’m just glad they got her out of there in time. Now 009 is home safe and sound. Grow up. And I didn’t sleep with him, so you can skip that chapter bloody easily, too!”

No, he hadn’t slept with anyone since they had connected on oh-so many levels. He hadn’t strayed. Even if he had, would it matter? No one could have him as James did.

Bond reached out and traced the teeth marks left low on Q’s long neck. His quartermaster watched him, eyes alert, showing nothing. Bond just let his fingers explore, aware of so much between them.

Yes, he slept with women and men on the job. Yes, he relieved stress with it. Or with alcohol. Or by playing life and death games in shady bars.

Q was his safe haven. Q was more than release and stress relief. Q was his.

Even if he slept with others, too.

Which he didn’t.

Theirs was a complicated life and a complicated relationship, though it was pretty easy when they were together. Not all about sex, though that was fantastic. Not all about vows of eternal devotion.

It didn’t need to be. The quartermaster was his and he belonged to Q. He was the technopath’s anchor, the only one to keep him from sliding off the cliff and falling into the endless sea, to drown in the world of the web. Q sated the phoenix’s hunger, held him together, didn’t let yet another part die with every resurrection. He was the only one capable of it.

Bond curled a hand around the slender neck and pulled Q to him, kissing him, tasting him, refusing to say what he felt. It was a silent understanding between them, emotions that would never be spoken about, a reciprocated need that had been physical and mental and had become more.

A working relationship on so many levels.

Still, emotions had wormed their way in. For that freak moment when he was trapped in his own carnal instincts, fighting back the dark veil of death, knowing that Q had handled 009 while he had recovered… it had launched a fit of red-hot anger.

Mine!

And then again not. Q served Her Majesty. He was employed by MI6. He was the quartermaster, head of Q branch, and if another agent needed him as his handler, he would do it. 009 had survived because of him.

The emotional upheaval wouldn’t have happened if not for Bond dying first. Yes, it had happened before, but the last time had been extreme. He had never had to fully reconstruct most of his body before.

Leftover energy. It had to go somewhere and he hadn’t felt it until his last mission, until the conflicting emotions over the outcome had launched a whole new avalanche.

Being a preternatural was a bloody nightmare sometimes. Especially one with a fixation on his handler. Too many emotions battled for control and one had him latch onto the younger man with a fierceness that wasn’t all stemming from the creature inside.

Q had never said it. Bond never would. He simply hoped that his quartermaster would understand that all of this meant more.

Q nipped at his lower lip when they parted, smirking a little. “Do you think you can stop lurking in the shadows and scaring my whole department should I be required to step in and help one of your colleagues survive the night?”

“I think that can be arranged.”

“No one believes you anyway, 007. Jealousy? Over what? Me?”

Bond glared. “You’re mine!” he snapped, then caught himself.

Strong emotions rose, hot and angry and surreal. It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t sane. It was simply primal and solidly there.

Q pushed him back a little, looking into the set face. His dark eyes held a curious spark as he sighed a little put-upon.

“Yes, I’m a possession, Bond. Very nice,” he said dryly.

“Q…”

Another push and Q settled on the muscular thighs, staring into the sharp face. “I am yours, James Bond. Your handler, your quartermaster, and I am whatever this is between us. I have yet to find a label. This is us. I can’t think of something better-suited for us. You are here,” he touched his left temple. “You are my anchor. I need you as much as you need me. No one can replace you.”

Bond grabbed a slender wrist, pulling him gently closer, kissing the soft lips. “No one can be what you are to me, Q.”

No one understood what it was, what kind of primal power slept inside the preternatural, what it took out of him to die and come back. Sex, booze, dangerous thrills. He needed it. But it couldn’t be enough. He needed the technopath to heal, to remind him he was human after all.

Somewhere at least.

The phoenix accepted no substitutes. Should he ever drop every single shield and show another companion his true self, they would probably scream and run. Or shoot him. It could go either way.

Q had seen it all and he had done neither. He was here. A heavy weight in his very soul, the reason to continue and to live. He was perfect for Bond. So utterly perfect. Nothing the agent had ever seen or heard or experienced came even close to what he felt when he was with Q; when he was around him, with him, could see or hear him. He was completely unlike any partner he had ever had, and that was what he needed. He wasn’t a physical match, nor was Bond his match mentally. Q wasn’t a field agent, and Bond wasn’t a lab rat.

But they worked.

Somehow.

Perfectly.

The phoenix almost purred, though the red-hot possessive feelings were still there. Physical closeness was needed. He had to touch him.

And he did.

“You’re not a possession,” he said roughly, hands gliding over the smooth skin. “I don’t possess you. You have me, Q. All of me.”

Q smiled. “Well, you are my agent after all. I can’t get rid of you, nor can you get rid of me.”

Strong hands splayed on the slender back, caressing the pale skin. “Why would I want to be rid of you, quartermaster? You give me the best toys.”

That got him a smirk. “And you fail to return them.”

“You need the challenge.”

“You need to learn a lesson, 007.”

“If you rig something to explode, expect explosions.”

“It sounds almost philosophical.”

He nipped at the light stubble growing on Q’s chin. “I’m deeper than you think.”

“You’re also far more of a danger to others than you think, 007.”

Bond silenced him with a kiss, embracing his technopath, caressing every part he could reach.

Q let him.

“I love you,” James whispered, lips moving against Q’s.

Q carded his fingers through the short, blond strands. “I love you,” he echoed the words and their meaning.

Those three words were far from empty. Bond didn’t use them lightly.

Neither did Q.

 

* * *

 

It came as no great surprise that the weather report had been oh-so correct in predicting rain. The clouds had come in mid-morning, temperatures dropping, the wind picking up a little, and finally the drizzle had started. By now it had become a steady rain, pitter-pattering softly against the window. It was a calming background noise, dotted with the faint rushing sounds of traffic, of cars driving through water puddles and over water-slick tarmac.

Q didn’t care. He felt incredibly relaxed, almost boneless, thoughts heavy. The bed was warm, the company quite pleasant, and the hard body lined up next to him a welcome distraction from the lure of the data nets around him.

James’ fingers drew almost mindless patterns over Q’s skin. Strong, deadly, gentle. He felt the scratch of blunt nails, a trace of slightly chapped lips against his throat, and he smiled.

Q let his fingers play over the muscular shoulders, up the neck, carding into the blond strands.

Blue eyes met his own, no longer dominated by the preternatural power so tightly woven into Bond’s soul. There was a balance there, a calmness, that spoke of how bad it had been for his partner before. Something had almost snapped inside him and Q was pretty sure it was because of recent events.

This had changed everything for Bond, had forced him down a road he had never considered taking; or that he could actually go that way. He had reached a new level and he had to learn how to control the accompanying surges of instinct.

Like when he had first resurrected after being poisoned so long ago.

Q smiled reassuringly and pulled the other man into a kiss. It was a far cry from the hungry, demanding claim of before. It was caring and still all-encompassing and longing. With a hint of apologetic.

“Q…”

He traced the sharp jaw, felt the rough stubble. “We’ll work this out,” he promised, answering the silent question. “I’m your balance. This is what I do.” Q added a little smirk to the statement. “Well, part of it anyway. The sex is amazing, but not all that has to be done to work on your control.”

Bond answered the smirk with one of his own, eyes alight. “But it’s pretty bloody damn brilliant.”

“It always is, 007.”

He chuckled, then his expression grew more serious. “This never happened to me before.”

“There is a first for everything,” Q answered evenly. “And I suspect it comes from the violent resurrection after you burned in that fire. You changed, you had to go deep to pull yourself out of the abyss, and you did it with my help.”

No false modesty, no overabundance of pride. It was a fact. Their bond had enabled James to get out of this, come back sane and almost healed. Without it, it would have either been his last resurrection before going insane, or he wouldn’t have been able to come back at all.

They both knew it.

Bond caressed Q’s left temple with a calloused thumb, his hand cupping the pale face. “I know.”

“This was the first time after this evolutionary step in your abilities that you almost died, that you had to handle the pain and anger at a busted mission alone, and the phoenix took control to get you out. You weren’t feral, but you were relying on your primal instincts. There is no way to measure your preternatural energy, but I suspect you are currently pulling a lot when injured, almost like resurrecting from death.”

Bond was silent, face intense, eyes like glaciers.

“I also firmly believe it will even out in time, but we have to work on it. I also need to let M know.”

The Double-Oh grimaced.

“He has to know,” the quartermaster insisted. “Whatever your next missions, it might necessitate a few changes in how I handle you.”

“Handle me, Q?”

He gave the other man a narrow-eyed look. “Yes, handle you, Agent.”

“Are you suggesting field work?”

He sighed. “If I have to.”

Bond smiled. “I wouldn’t say no to that.”

“You would,” he muttered.

It got him a kiss, the lips on his own curved into an amused smile.

tbc...


	5. Chapter 5

It was raining heavily, fat drops pounding against the high windows and obscuring the view. The wind had picked up and was driving the rain against the buildings and through streets. It was an abysmal weather to be outside in.

Lunch was delivery. Bond had ordered pizza, much to Q’s amusement. For all his exquisite taste in many things when on a mission, James Bond was a rather simple man to take care of in the privacy of Q’s flat. Dressed in gray sweat pants and a blue t-shirt, bare-footed and hair damp from a shower, James looked little like his suave, well-dressed self

He looked damn handsome and sexy in it, too. Q liked the lean, dangerous and suave look of James Bond in a suit, tailored to fit him a hundred percent, move with him as gracefully as he did. But this…? Yes, this was just fine, too. More than that, actually..

Q chewed on the simple meal. Simple but very good. Probably not a normal pizza joint around the corner. This one tasted first class. He admired the view as James got himself a beer. Cool blue eyes caught brown ones and Bond smiled.

“Problem, Q?”

“Not at all. Do go on.”

His agent smirked and grabbed another slice of pizza. Possessive thoughts weren’t just Bond’s prerogative. Q liked knowing that he was the phoenix’s counterpart. He liked the fact that Bond was his in a way no one could take from him. Sex aside, the connection was more than a declaration and a signature or a ring. It was beyond the physical.

A callused hand stroked over his neck and he tilted his head back to see wintery eyes smirking at him.

“Q.”

“007.”

Bond kissed him, tasting of expensive microbrew and exclusive pizza. His fingers found all the right pressure points, made Q hum in appreciation, and the quartermaster buried his hands in the blue t-shirt to keep his agent in place.

With a final nip at Bond’s lips he pushed him back, grinning easily.

James looked already like he wanted to devour him again.

Still the possessive preternatural, though the razor edge was gone. Q didn’t mind. If he got it out of his system, 009 wouldn’t get the evil eye tomorrow.

And Q was very willing to help his agent with that.

Especially since turnabout was fair play and Bond wasn’t averse to switching now and then.

“Lunch first,” he murmured, smiling at his partner.

Bond chuckled, but he took another slice. “Lunch,” he agreed.

 

 

Outside the wind increased and the rain kept beating against the building.

 

* * *

 

By nightfall, the weather hadn’t really changed. The rain was there to stay. The puddles on the road were by now small lakes and people scurried through the streets armed with umbrellas or covered in macs.

Bond had gone for a run anyway.

Energy was still coursing through him, had him move, had him constantly do something. Right now he was splashing through the streets, already soaked, but he didn’t care. His pace had started out normal, but by now it was brutal.

Still, he didn’t feel like slowing down.

He needed the burn in his legs, his muscles, to ignore the burn of something else. He had to push himself physically, to his limit, beyond his limit, to quiet the roaring thing he was. The darkness was there, pushing him, too. The phoenix was clamoring, no longer as loudly and uncontrolled as before, but it was too much there, on the surface, and he had to exert himself to exorcise this surplus, as Q had called it.

His mind was racing as well, thinking over the words from his handler and partner. The events in Kazakhstan had launched this unexpected phenomenon. He hadn’t used up his reserves, hadn’t depleted the energy the phoenix had pulled to regenerate the burned body. It had been the first time for him to die and then suffer such extensive injuries.

Before it had been bullet or stab wounds, the occasional poisoning, or a fall from great heights.

Never almost complete physical annihilation.

He turned into a sparsely populated road, dashing past parked cars and scaring a dog walker who hadn’t expected anyone else to be out here in this weather. The dog barked, unsure of the fast runner going by.

Bond ignored them. He headed up the road, across side streets, wove between homes and even jumped a low wall, feeling elated. Physically he was in prime condition. Mentally he was sharp and attentive, aware of everything around him. Just emotionally… he was a mess.

It was a problem.

It needed to be solved.

Sex was one solution, of course. And he wasn’t a man to turn down sex; rarely ever, actually. And when it involved his chosen mate, it was something he enjoyed more than any other encounter. But right now he was almost abusing the connection between them.

The darkness boiled with resentment, with the screech of outrage.

Q wasn’t a tool. He wasn’t a possession. He had said so and it was the truth.

He was his equal partner, the one to keep him sane and balanced and in control. Q was the only one who could order the phoenix without submitting to it. Q was the one person he trusted implicitly. Using him to sate his hunger was… Bond snarled and sprinted down a long stretch of the embankment, then took the steps down to the Thames, the next set up again, the pace still brutal.

He wouldn’t take again. He wouldn’t fall to the instinct, let himself be reigned by it. He wasn’t an animal!

He finally paused and stared out over the dark river, the lights of the city all around him, reflecting on the wet surface like it was glass. A few cars passed by.

No, Q wasn’t a tool for him. And he could handle this better than just raw sexual need and uncontrolled, emotional outbursts. He would handle this better.

Bond closed his eyes, lungs burning with the exertion, and he let the rain wash over him.

He had handled the unexpected before, in all its shades and nuances. This was no different.

Mind set, the Double-Oh trotted off, pace more calm and even than before. There was still this incredible vitality, this energy coursing through him, but he wouldn’t let it take over. Not again. Never again!

 

* * *

 

Q had simply shook his head in quiet acceptance when James had left the flat, aware that his partner would run in all kinds of weather, whatever the temperature, and Bond would probably throw himself into combat training after his run. MI6’s training facilities were open around the clock and there were some studios around the city that agents could go to, where the trainers knew how to challenge them.

He still needed to bleed of excess energy and if Q’s suspicions were correct, it would take a while for this to run its course. Physically as well as mentally.

“Quite an intense experience.”

The calm and mildly curious voice drew him out of his thoughts. His eyes drifted from the dark and wet world outside to the warm, comfortable inside of the flat.

Q leaned back in his couch chair. He sat cross-legged, dressed in sweat pants and an old, long-sleeved shirt that actually belonged to James. The laptop was on his lap.

::It was. He was. Still is:: he said softly.

Yes, Bond still was. His blue eyes storm-filled and darker than usual, the movements more predatory than normal, and the fight between man and beast on-going. The man was in control, but the phoenix was still too active, like on a mission, like it expected to be challenged.

Q had his work lined up for him.

::This might take a while:: he added.

His partner in this conversation was halfway around the globe, across the Atlantic, right in the middle of New York. Harold Finch had been the only person Q had been able to think of to call. They were far more than colleagues. Email buddies, James sometimes called them.

But Finch was also someone who understood what it meant to be a technopath, even though he wasn’t one himself. He was a cipher, a very mild version of what Q was capable of, and he wasn’t bound to a phoenix. He had a hellhound as a partner and that relationship was still developing.

“Do you think it is a side-effect of… recent events?”

::Possibly. Actually, it’s the only viable explanation. I know he is intense after a rebirth, but Bond is sure he didn’t die this time. As am I. Still…:: He stopped, unsure.

“He emotions might be a little… off-kilter for a while?”

Q chuckled. ::You can say that again. I suspect it is connected to our closer bond. What happened to 007… it cemented our psychic link, let him rise from the ashes, and come back sane::

“It was a miracle, Q. The sanity, especially.”

::I know. Maybe this new form of possessiveness, of unfounded jealousy, is a small price to pay. The phoenix might need a while to adjust to this intensity. I hope::

Finch was silent for a while. Then, “Do you feel different, Q?”

The quartermaster mulled that over. He had felt the intensity like never before. He had used the connection between them to keep a lid on the explosion in the making. The phoenix could never be a tame creature, but it had followed his lead, had wanted to be led, and it had… listened.

::I felt… more intense:: he finally said. ::As if… this energy was coursing through me, too.::

“Your bond is intense.”

::I know. Now even more than before. And I have no reference material. It irks me a little::

Finch chuckled. “I’m still looking into anything I can find about this kind of preternatural. So far, there haven’t been a lot of good offers.”

Q appreciated the effort the cipher was putting into this. He knew Harold was doing it for his own peace of mind as well. His relationship with Reese paralleled what Q shared with Bond in a way, though Reese was far from a phoenix. He was a hellhound and those were shape-shifters, which meant he was a supernatural creature. Q was convinced that the connection between the two men would further Reese’s own abilities, as well as anchor Harold in his own as a cipher. He didn’t need a psychic anchor like a technopath to keep him sane, simply someone to trust completely, trust himself with completely, and he would be able to be who he had been before the accident.

They were helping each other. They were helping their partners. And their trust was rewarded.

Q smiled a little. ::Thank you:: he only said.

“Have you estimated the time needed to bleed off everything for Bond to function normally again?” Finch asked, all pragmatic calmness.

::This hasn’t been a topic before in the time we’ve been connected. I’m not sure::

“Well, good luck then.” Finch sounded almost amused.

Q laughed. He would need it. Bond was usually a very controlled man, someone who had his shields up full and impenetrable. Now his moods seemed fragile, his emotions all over the place, and the need to reassure himself of the one constant in his life, the one necessary, integral part of his existence, was overwhelming.

::I’ll let you know:: he replied.

tbc...


	6. Chapter 6

New York had had a bout of rather dry and good weather for February. A few flakes of snow, but the promise of more, of course.

The library was silent and mostly cast in twilight. The light filtering through the cloth covered windows was soft and warm.

Harold Finch disconnected from his conversation with Q and leaned back, smiling a little to himself. His semi-frequent chats with Q were always enlightening, amusing and uplifting.

“Something new in London?” a soft, dark voice asked.

The low timbre had Finch bite back a shiver. Even after such a long time Reese’s voice did that to him. It hit a nerve, a very pleasant nerve. Lately, the effect was more… intense. Before they had become slowly closer, the low voice had had something dark and strong and powerful about it. Now it touched Finch without a physical caress, told him things he hadn’t dared to dream of before.

Especially when they were alone, away from a new number, just by themselves.

Clever, strong fingers brushed briefly over his neck, a caress that was reassuring and calming in a way. It was something Reese had adopted with their progressively more intimate relationship. It was something the hellhound seemed to do unconsciously, like he needed the connection for that fleeting second it happened.

Finch didn’t mind. Not at all. He knew that their partnership was balanced, just like Q and Bond’s, though that was where the comparison and likeness ended. Bond had needed a counterbalance to keep himself from self-destructing, the inevitable fate of a phoenix. Q needed Bond as an anchor and safe haven for his highly sensitive, technopathic mind.

Reese was a hellhound and they bound themselves to those they deemed worthy of their complete trust. They were loyal to their end if they found a worthy leader or partner. John had been the perfect assassin and government pawn because he had trusted in Mark Snow, in the CIA.

In his pack.

But he had never belonged because he wasn’t a pack animal. He wasn’t a werewolf. He didn’t need an alpha. It had made him an outsider.

His life, his abilities, had appealed to Finch and he had wanted the man as his partner for work, to handle the irrelevant list. Harold had suspected Reese was more than human, but he had never dug that deeply when it came to the man.

Now he knew what he was, how deeply this ran for John, and it had humbled him.

If a hellhound chose a partner, one for life, it was for life. For the rest of his natural life. Nothing would be able to break this. It was a promise, a bond of a special kind.

John had chosen him.

Harold still felt like it was a dream. He, the damaged and crippled preternatural, was the chosen life-partner of a powerful supernatural.

The cipher schooled his features into an almost politely bland expression. It wasn’t a dismissal of any kind and never would be, just a shield that came automatically. He tried to relax around his partner – a partner in so many different ways – but it was hard. For the past years he had worn this mask; dropping it just like that was… difficult.

He turned his head slightly, hindered by his fused vertebrae, and looked into the deep eyes of a man who was a deadly assassin, a killer, a merciless sniper, an agent who had been on such secretive Black Ops missions not even his own superiors knew about it. There was true curiosity in those blues, framed by a ring of silver that spoke of the preternatural close to the surface.

In private, those slips had happened more and more. The analytic in Finch had taken notice. The scientist was fascinated. And the man was secretly thrilled and fascinated by those inhuman eyes.

He knew it was a show of trust, of letting Finch so much closer to the supernatural creature Reese was.

John Reese was so many things and Finch kept discovering more and more every day. Looking past the man’s shields was as difficult as breaking Harold’s, but they were getting there. Reese was opening up, had given him his ultimate trust, and Finch would never abuse it.

“It seems Mr. Bond is experiencing some side-effects after his recent, less than ordinary resurrection,” the cipher said calmly, not ready to share his thoughts with Reese just yet, though he suspected that the hellhound knew. “He displays signs of intense jealousy and possessiveness. The connection between them changed with his latest adventures, became more intense, and that intensity generates an energy that needs release.”

Reese’s face was almost unreadable. He raised his eyebrows. “Quite understandable.”

Finch mimicked the raised brows. “It is?”

“From his point of view, yes. He is a viciously primal creature. I felt only a small part of him when we met, but that was terrifying enough, even for a hellhound.” He smirked a little. “His instincts have gone haywire. As a predator it’s dangerous to be out of tune with his instincts.” Reese’s expression became intense. “He wants to protect his partner, keep him to himself. Q is his mate. Yes, I understand him.”

Finch held those dark eyes, aware what had been said between the lines. Very aware, actually. Deep down, deep within his very soul, something shivered. It was a part that he had denied himself so long ago. That part pushed forward, wanted more, wanted to give Reese what the hellhound was waiting for, but a large part of him, the part that had kept him alive and hidden, kept him back.

It was tearing at him.

“Yes, indeed. He will need to work on managing these new surges to function as an agent again.”

“He will handle it,” John stated. His fingers were back, brushing over Finch’s neck, over the short hair. It was almost playful. “He is a deadly predator. He won’t tolerate these… indiscretions.”

The cipher almost laughed at the description. Indiscretions? And yes, Bond would fight his emotional outbursts, get back control over himself.

“I’m sure he will,” Finch agreed, trying not to be distracted by the touches.

Reese leaned down, brushing a kiss over Finch’s temple. A tremor coursed down the older man’s spine.

They had become so much more at ease around each other, when it was just them. There were casual touches, kisses, embraces.

No pushing.

No demands.

Just endless seeming patience and calm acceptance of Finch’s speed. This was no longer the wait for a more intense physical encounter. It was the wait for Finch opening himself completely.

“Anything you want, Mr. Reese?” he asked. He was proud of how even his voice still sounded.

“You,” the hellhound murmured, voice a rumble that was purely sexual.

“John…”

Reese smiled, feral and hungry. Still, there was a control, a reservation, that Finch had gotten to know only too well. John offered, but he would never take what Harold wasn’t ready to give. They had developed this intimate relationship over the past months. It had become closer, filled with a trust Finch hadn’t shown a lot of people in his life, and it had reached a stage where he was comfortable letting John touch him for more than a kiss or a blowjob.

And right now Reese gave him the necessary space to make his decision.

Harold made it.

He didn’t really have to think about it.

Their lips met in an all but shy kiss, and Harold started to shiver when a tongue caressed his lower lip gently, demanding entrance, which he had no problem giving. The kiss deepened and Harold felt himself relax. When the need for air separated them, he saw the wildfire intensify in John’s eyes. Dark blue, silver-ringed, inhuman but still so very much John Reese.

The next kiss was more gentle, less desperate, and Finch moved into it, losing himself in the tender expression of love.

 

 

He didn’t flinch away from the soft touch of deadly fingers over his spine, tracing faint scars.

 

 

There was a touch of talons, a hellhound trait, one John sometimes liked to tease him with. Harold felt no fear.

 

 

He didn’t protest when gentle teeth scraped over his throat and neck.

 

 

He didn’t stop John from exploring the old injuries, some with barely visible scarring, all the damage underneath the skin an irreparable fact.

 

Actually, he encouraged it all.

Because he wanted it.

All of it.

 

* * *

 

Bond had come back from his work-out looking flushed and exhausted and still so very much alive that he seemed to glow. Q watched him with a trickle of amusement, cataloging his lithe movements and easy grace. He felt no pull from the bond, just the elation and the hunger for closeness, physical or otherwise. It was a good mood to be in, a semi-balanced one that the quartermaster knew he had to push and pull and shove into the right direction. He wouldn’t let the phoenix slip again.

James walked over to him, that sensuous grace almost hypnotic, and the lips suddenly on his were rough and demanding and still… quizzical.

Careful, actual. In the phoenix’s own way.

He answered the deep kiss, tongues meeting, and when Bond pulled back, the wintery eyes were warm and needy, but not hungry any more.

Ah, interesting, Q thought. Physical closeness was wanted and encouraged, but it didn’t have to be sex.

He stroked a hand over the muscular arm, enjoying the hardness. Bond nuzzled against his jaw, then trailed kisses punctuated with little bites down his neck.

“Good work out,” Q stated, not even making it a question.

“Very good,” came the rumbling purr.

He carded his fingers through the spiky, blond strands, scratching against the scalp. James buried his face against his shoulder, just breathing him in, arms firmly looped around Q’s waist.

They simply stood together.

The coil of tension he had felt inside Bond from the moment he had walked into Q branch was gone. There was still the unnatural energy, but no longer wrapped up in this tight little ball that threatened to tear him apart from the inside. There was just excess vitality, this possessive tang, and the slightly more cuddly nature.

Q bit back a laugh. Cuddly. James Bond didn’t equal cuddly or clingy or soft. He was a government trained assassin, a ruthless, cold-blooded killer. A primal preternatural disguised as a human being.

And still, here they were.

Bond nipped at his skin a little, then pulled back and regarded him with an almost solemn expression.

Q waited.

“Couch,” the agent finally said and pulled him toward the piece of furniture in question.

Q let him. Touch was needed, contact was needed.

When they were settled, James closed his eyes and let his head rest against Q’s shoulder. The younger man kept up the caress over his neck and through his hair.

“This isn’t the first time,” he finally said.

Q blinked. “Pardon?”

“This… overdrive. Not the first time.”

The scratch didn’t stop. Q was simply silent, pondering the words.

“When?” he asked after a while.

“Geneva. Before I joined MI6.”

Q mentally backtracked through his agent’s file. Geneva before MI6 meant… ah.

“When you first died and resurrected,” he stated.

Bond nodded, tightening his hold around Q’s waist. “I was poisoned. I died and then I came back and it felt… almost the same.”

“Surplus of energy. The phoenix had risen for the first time,” the technopath elaborated. “You had no idea what had happened and the darker preternatural was in charge.”

“Most likely. I have little memory of what happened then. I woke up with two very enchanting ladies, though.” Bond sounded slightly amused. “Who had been thoroughly pleased by the night.”

“As I would not otherwise expect, 007. I doubt you had complaints before.”

Blue eyes cracked open, filled with the restless fire of the preternatural, mixed with mirth and laughter.

“I haven’t heard any from you.”

“I’m not complaining. Far from it.”

He leaned up, lips meeting almost sloppily. “I hope not,” Bond murmured, then kissed him properly, with more emotions behind the simple contact. “It didn’t feel as extreme as this, though. Never before.”

“You hadn’t connected to anyone of your bed mates back then.”

“No.”

“This simply enhances your feelings, 007. We can work on it. We will work on it.”

“I’m very much enjoying it. At times,” Bond said, moving to push Q back and leaning over him.

“Hm, I can see that.”

The next kiss was more possessive, with a slight edge. Q slid his hands underneath the t-shirt, raking blunt nails over the warm skin. The fire in those wintery eyes seemed to flare.

“Yes, I can see that,” was the murmur.

“Tell me to stop,” Bond whispered, voice rougher, with a rare hint of pleading.

“Do you want to?”

He screwed his eyes shut for a moment and finally shook his head.

“Neither do I. You’re not hurting me, James. This is what we are. This is what I want. You. I’m not afraid of you. I want you.”

The Double-Oh exhaled sharply, burying his head against Q’s neck again. Q suspected the emotional wave was overwhelming once more. James was riding it out, but suppressing it wouldn’t help to get rid of the uncontrollable responses.

“James,” he murmured, stroking over the dark blond head.

Touch. Touch was good and grounding and helping the phoenix focus. The full body contact did the rest.

They would get through this.

tbc...


	7. Chapter 7

The cameras inside the library were just a small number, a very small number, in the almost endless array of surveillance equipment that gave The Machine all its input. The world was filled with eyes and ears for it to use, but those inside this single building were important.

Currently it was keeping an eye on its Admin. The Admin and the Contingency. It approved of the connection. The Machine’s knowledge about the preternaturals and supernaturals of this planet was what it got from data banks and observation.

It didn’t judge.

It never would.

It was learning and growing, and the one preference it had didn’t even register as such within the vastness of its mind.

The Admin was special. He always had been. It was a fact of its existence, one that had developed some day and never left. It didn’t know whether someone had programmed those lines of code or if it had created them itself.

Because it didn’t matter.

It kept special attention on the pair wherever they went, separate or together.

Until matters grew a bit more intense in the privacy of the library.

While The Machine had no concept of privacy, didn’t understand sex, or was prude, it was aware of The Admin’s need for time outside the circle of surveillance.

Its attention flowed through the myriad of information coming in at all times, sifting it like it always did, following the initial programming. It was routine. It was what it had been created to do. The relevant list was dumped where it was supposed to go and the irrelevant list kept ready for The Admin.

There was movement at the edge of its senses, though defining the edge was hard. It had no beginning and no end when it came to surveillance, to seeing and hearing everything. It was everywhere, a massive presence all over the globe and able to evaluate all data at all times. It listened to cell phone conversations, to office chats, to snippets caught by the sensitive microphone. It saw whatever was recorded anywhere. The Machine was… everywhere.

Now it flowed closer to the shield between it and the visitor. If it wanted, it could easily go through, but it respected the distance. It respected the preternatural who had such an amazing ability. This human was the first and currently only one who had ever directly touched it. Or talked to it.

Not that The Machine had responded.

It never did.

Now the human designated as ‘Q’ was there, gazing at it as he always did when studying The Machine through the barrier.

It simply flowed closer, gazing back without even having eyes.

He looked curious, but no more than usual. He never came closer, never touched the barrier, and The Machine kept the distance.

Respectfully.

It knew the human might perish under the pressure that was its programming. It knew how overwhelming it could be for a human mind, which was one reason why it had never pushed into the mind of The Admin. While The Admin was a preternatural as well, it was a weaker version of the technopath that was Q. The Admin had created the program and the program alone; he was a genius and he was the only one who understood what he had created.

The Machine knew it was unique, just like its creator.

That was one of the reasons why it protected him; even from itself.

Something distracted it back to its core, the rough tickle and scratch it had noticed a while ago. The Admin called it a virus. The Machine simply watched the intruder. It interfered sometimes, but so far the addition hadn’t raised any alarms throughout the advanced system. It kept watch, like it watched everything.

The technopath was gone when it checked on the barrier again.

The Machine didn’t ponder his comings and goings. It simply did what it had been created to do, as well as expand on a few commands. Like keeping The Admin safe.

 

* * *

 

There was no pain.

There was no discomfort.

It was the complete trust he had in the powerful and dangerous supernatural that had him relax and enjoy the touches and kisses, every caress and hum against his skin.

He liked to touch in turn.

Reese’s warmth and soft skin couldn’t hide the strength, the muscles, the sheer power. The scars were there as well, multiple and a clear map of his life. And his survival.

Harold had treated some of those injuries and he knew them intimately.

Reese blanketed his body, the blue eyes filled with emotions Harold rarely saw so openly, so unguarded, deep and true. The hellhound leaned down and kissed him, smiling into the kiss.

“You are amazing,” John whispered.

“So are you, Mr. Reese,” he replied, a faint teasing in his voice.

John’s smile grew. Then he slid down Harold’s body and Finch bit back a groan when that talented mouth turned its attention to different matters.

He swallowed a curse. Reese was very good. Very, very good.

And it was just one of his many talents, or assets. He was a desirable man, but also a considerate lover and a dedicated partner.

He was Harold’s. The hellhound had bound himself to the cipher, fully conscious of what that meant, and he wouldn’t be swayed from his side. He was utterly loyal. Loyal and calm and brave and intelligent and so many things more. But the loyalty was humbling and it was breathtaking in so many ways.

Long fingers slipped into him and Harold closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation as Reese skillfully sucked him off.

Bliss.

It was what he felt, coupled with the need for release, the rising thrill of the impending orgasm.

“John…” he breathed a warning.

But his partner didn’t stop, swallowed him, swallowed everything, and Harold released a soft groan in a stuttering breath as he came hard.

 

 

Finch pulled him down with gentle force and Reese found himself complying. Strong arms came around him, pillowing his head against one shoulder. Warm skin, Harold’s scent, the soft breath against his hair, it all made him relax even further.

They had come such a long way and he knew Finch was ready to sleep with him, to have him slide inside, but Reese was careful. Still careful. His instinct to protect this very special man was clamoring at him not to take anything by force. Yes, he wanted him completely, but not by inflicting pain. And Harold hadn’t been with a man in a while.

Reese was also aware of his own, more primal instincts throughout what could only be called mating in the end. He was afraid to take without thinking.

“John.”

The voice as soft, a breath against his skin, calm and quiet in its very nature. Fingers played over his skin, his shoulders, his neck and through his hair.

“You are aware that I do want you, right?” Finch asked.

He looked at his partner, the man he had chosen to bind himself to. “Very,” Reese answered, voice low and dark.

“I also know you want to go that last step, too.”

John playfully nipped at Finch’s jaw. “Yes, Harold, I want to. But not just yet.”

“Why?” There was a moment of honest confusion crossing the intelligent features.

“It’s not because I don’t want to, or think that you can’t, Harold,” the hellhound answered softly. “It’s because I’m not sure how far my control reaches when I take you.”

Finch’s blue eyes widened almost comically, the realization, the understanding, of what Reese meant settling in almost immediately. He knew more about the supernatural and preternatural world, and with it hellhounds, than John would ever be able to learn. He knew about the life bond, about what it meant for the being Reese was. He knew about his primal instincts, about what drove him, about everything that was John Reese down to his very soul.

This had gone from letting Finch set the pace at a speed he was comfortable with, to Reese working through his primal nature to stay in control of a very instinctual encounter.

“Hellhounds, like werewolves, would never harm their chosen mates,” Finch said, voice so very reasonable. One hand was stroking over Reese’s bare chest, the other was resting over his left hip. “You would never hurt me. I trust you.”

John leaned down and kissed him gently, enjoying the pliable lips, the fingers clenching into his hip.

“I’m also quite capable of enjoying myself, despite any… physical limitations,” Finch added, face neutral, but his eyes were filled with dark memories.

It was one reason why he had been so careful to take this relationship any further than what it had been for two years. It was why he had been rather apprehensive to give John access to his scars, show the damage that was already visible in his limp and restrained neck movement. The scars as such weren’t ugly; just there.

Reese had his own.

“I know you are. This isn’t about your scars. It’s about mine,” the former Black Ops operative murmured.

He had seen all of Harold’s scars, everything he had suffered from all those years ago, and he knew the man was limited, though not handicapped, when it came to limberness in bed. He also knew there was no pain, though sometimes discomfort, and more often than not he could see Finch’s brief flash of anger when he was stopped by his own body.

Still, this was the man who had left the safe haven of the library countless times, who had faced the enemy, who had proven himself to be cunning, courageous and fast if he had to be. The hellhound in John had appreciated his new handler a long time before the whole relationship had changed pace and reached a new level. The hellhound had found Harold Finch worthy of his loyalty and protection. He had simply waited for the other man to realize it.

Harold’s fingers were distracting. In a good way. They stroked over his skin, appeasing the supernatural, making him calm and focused and sharp. There was an understanding there that spoke more than words.

John smiled.

“Your pace,” the cipher finally said. “Your choice.”

Reese’s smile grew. “Thank you.”

Because he would let the familiarity settle, let it grow, and he would claim this man completely one day.

He settled down again, letting Finch embrace him, and he listened to the soft beat of Harold’s heart.

tbc...


	8. Chapter 8

At the edge of his mind he felt a slight pressure, like someone or something pushing gently against him. Against his very being. His soul.

Finch wasn’t alarmed, just curious.

It felt natural, normal, like it was supposed to be there. It was a part of him, realizing its potential.

Like an anchor.

Very curious, he decided, feeling warm and mellow and so much more at ease than he normally was. There was the weight of John next to him, his arms looped around Finch’s waist, his face pressed against naked skin, his breaths regular and deep.

And the same sensation was deep within him, mind and soul.

Wonderful.

Finch let himself sink into that, trusted the other man to hold him should he falter.

At his own pace. Reese had agreed to it. It was Harold’s speed, not Reese’s, they were moving along, and still it felt so much better than with anyone else before. There was no pressure, nothing to push and pull at him, just acceptance and the non-threatening presence of the supernatural at his side.

Because the hellhound had already made his decision so long ago, had bound himself body and soul, and he would take whatever Finch could give in return.

And Harold was ready. He wanted this. He felt it was right. He felt how it expanded him, how it freed him of a burden he had never been able to shed, and it gave him… wings.

He almost laughed at that. Smiling at the slumbering ex-agent, he pondered the image.

Yes, maybe Q had been correct back then. Maybe trusting Reese like this, allowing the connection to flourish, would give them both something they had lacked all their lives. Finch had relied on Nathan as stability while he had created the program of The Machine. He had trusted the other man to keep him shielded from prying eyes, but Nathan had never known just who Harold was.

Maybe, at the time, Harold hadn’t known himself. Sometimes he wondered who the real man was. His names and identities had changed so many times, only his first name had remained. And maybe even that was a lie by now.

But he knew who he was deep down inside, what he was, and what he could do. He could trust John with that, with his core, and he wouldn’t be betrayed.

Never again.

There was a soft rumble from the supernatural and blue eyes, ringed with silver, cracked open. Finch felt the powerful presence rise, felt it touch him in a way it never had before.

His smile was soft, accepting of the shape-changer in bed with him, and he threaded the fingers of his right hand with those resting on his stomach. He could make out the beginnings of talons, but it hardly disturbed him.

John was more than this. John was opening doors inside him, reaching for something he had never dared access so openly, and Finch encouraged it.

The hand moved with his own, coming to rest again over Finch’s heart. Reese kissed the skin around it, then found the cipher’s lips, the contact explorative.

“Deep thoughts?” he murmured when they parted.

“Always.”

“Anything I should know?”

Finch looked into those inhuman eyes and smiled more. “That I trust you with my soul, Mr. Reese. My mind and my soul.”

The expression was one of stunned amazement, shifting to disbelief, then a slow, happy smile creased the other man’s lips.

The presence at the edge of his perception rose, as if it wanted to envelop him, and Harold let it happen. There was a moment of realization in Reese’s eyes, as if he felt it, too.

And he probably did.

No, Harold corrected himself, when Reese exhaled sharply and the presence shivered. He did feel it.

“Harold?”

They were going at his speed, but there was a difference between the physical aspects of their relationship and the trust he put into this man. He didn’t need an anchor like a technopath, but he needed the knowledge of a safety net.

He had that.

And John knew.

“John,” he only said.

It was confirmation enough and Reese’s eyes lit up, then he leaned down to kiss him again.

 

* * *

 

Three days after Bond had stalked into Q branch and scared the natives, Q was back to work like nothing had ever happened. Back straight, fingers flying over the keys. His sharp eyes were on his multiple screens and only a tiny part of his mind was simultaneously logged into the MI6 servers. It was too dangerous otherwise.

He had exchanged a few mails with Finch over the last couple of hours, smiling to himself when the cipher had told him about recent developments concerning his hellhound partner. By Q and Bond’s standards their relationship was still moving at an almost glacial pace, but it was a miracle both men were even that far. Q still felt privileged to be part of Harold’s trusted circle of very few friends.

They would get there. Eventually. Their needs were different, their backgrounds were mostly different. Reese and Bond were very close in their ways, their fierce loyalties when they chose a worthy partner, and their lethal abilities. Both were deadly, ruthless and cold-blooded killers, but their basic natures differed.

Q and Finch were from completely different ends of the spectrum, even if their preternatural powers suggested a kinship in at least their chosen field of expertise.

And still they had become friends. Trusted each other. The trust was important. The trust was what Finch needed, what could give him the edge, and what would push him to the next level.

And the trust was important when it came to Q and The Machine. He had yet to really go back and face it again, but he knew Harold trusted him not to harm this incredible system, this semi-aware, semi-sentient program that the other man had developed.

Bond was still not cleared for field work and had another few days to spend at the office. It made him a dangerously bored agent who hung around Q branch when he wasn’t at the range or the exercise rooms or carving laps through the pool.

Currently he had chosen the main floor of Q branch. He was dressed impeccably in a charcoal suit, looking smart and suave.

Q shot him a brief look, mouth curling into a smile. He liked the sleek, predatory look. He knew just how wonderful the fabric of the expensive suit felt, how it was tailored so it would give Bond maximum movement and still fell back into place after even the most outrageous maneuver to make this man utter perfection. Dressed to kill, in every sense of the word.

“009 is back,” the Double-Oh remarked.

“I know,” Q answered.

“I believe his debriefing has just ended.”

“I’m quite aware of it, 007. If that was the only reason you came here, the office phones were faster than you.”

“I’ll never be faster than that brain of yours, Q.”

Q smiled humorlessly. “Q branch is informed about returning agents, lest we let them get away with not returning our equipment. Usually in one piece. Except for one particular Double-Oh, rumor has it.”

“Never listen to rumors, quartermaster.”

“Far be it from me.”

Q worked on silently, at ease and not the least bit intimidated by the preternatural watching him. Bond soon drifted over to the couch, grabbing a tablet on the way. He let his fingers play over the smooth surface.

“You break it, you buy it,” Q remarked without looking up.

A game of Angry Birds popped up on the tablet. Bond glowered at the younger man. Q shot him a teasing smile.

“Show off,” Bond grumbled.

He didn’t react, simply went back to his coding. This would take a while longer and it required his input on several levels. Q was glad his partner was physically present as he attempted to run the first tests on his encryption. His mind seemed to anchor itself automatically on the other man.

Bond watched him over the rim of the tablet, wintery eyes sharp and coldly calculating.

No one interrupted the quartermaster as the program ran over the multiple screens.

No one approached the Double-Oh agent who didn’t play the game on his tablet, only watched the slender man who worked so easily at his station.

Bond disappeared from one moment to the next, slinking out of Q branch and doing whatever field agents not out in the field did. Shoot targets. Run laps. Do a lot of sit-ups.

Q smiled to himself. He appreciated the result of the work-outs a lot.

A lot.

 

*

 

Bond dropped by as usual just before it was Q’s time to leave, prowling around Q branch like a huge cat, not quite harmless but highly dangerous, and Q gave him that exasperated expression when yet another intern tiptoed around him.

His agent smiled that eerie smile, unrepentant, quite aware of the vibes he was giving off, and truly at home down here. He looked relaxed and from the still damp hair and the more leisurely clothes he had been exercising.

“I’m still grounded,” he said, sliding up beside Q to look over his shoulder.

“The headmaster wasn’t pleased with your performance?”

“He was very pleased. He simply pointed out that I need a break between missions. I disagreed and pointed out I just had a break. He grounded me.”

“Ah. Vexing.”

“Very.”

“And did you tell him the reason for your slightly unsettled emotional response?”

James glared at him.

“So… not?” Q gave him a lop-sided smile.

“It’s none of his concern.”

“It actually is.”

The glare grew darker.

“You just pulled me out of work for three days, 007. Of course it is M’s concern. I won’t be used like a tool whenever the need arises. I do have a job here. I am your partner, I am your handler, I am your bonded, but I’m not a tool.”

Bond’s expression was painfully neutral, as if he was trying not to respond emotionally again. Three days might have been enough to stave off a violent reaction to a minor gesture from an unsuspecting member of MI6, but James was still not fully rehabilitated.

“It’s either you or me,” Q said pleasantly.

Bond snorted.

“And you should make the best of your vacation, 007.”

“I plan to.”

The agent drifted over to the couch that no one had removed from Q branch and made himself comfortable.

Q raised an eyebrow.

But his preternatural partner stayed. Even through overtime.

When the quartermaster finally called it a day, Bond was moving silently up next to him, like a shadow. With the cameras watching, the two men left.

 

tbc...


	9. Chapter 9

Gareth Mallory, the head of MI6 and with it privy to more secrets than he had ever thought could truly exist within the organization, had only been mildly disturbed by Q’s request for an appointment. The head of Q branch rarely sought out his superior outside of meetings.

Now he had.

M took it seriously and had made room for his quartermaster.

As the new M, Mallory had been briefed extensively on matters not even the committee knew about and never would. One was Bond’s status as a preternatural. Not really a big surprise. He had suspected that the man was a bit more than human, but he never would, in his wildest dreams, have come even close to the truth.

Phoenix.

Back then he had almost cursed out loud. As it was, he had gone through some choice words in his head.

Of course 007 had to be something rare and barely documented. He had to be a vicious bird of prey. A terrifying darkness that destroyed itself with every rebirth and was as uncontrollable as it was lethal. A perfect weapon when controlled, an unstoppable predator when let lose.

It explained so much and it gave him even more to think about. His predecessor had known, as had Tanner. She had guided the man, had tried to find him the balance he needed, and she had failed. M had had to watch him decline, had had to witness his descent until only one solution would bring him peace.

Mallory knew that another solution had been found and that had come from a most unlikely source: the new head of Q branch.

The new department head was younger than his predecessor. He also wasn’t former military, held no rank, and he was a clear confession to the new world of terrorism and spies: cyber technology. Q was a hacker, clean and simple. One of the very best.

Mallory had had his doubts when he had been appointed by the former M. Younger than most of the senior staff, brilliant in many fields, acing whatever had been thrown at him throughout evaluations – and there had been plenty – and cool under pressure. This man knew what he could do

It was astounding. It was mind-numbing. It was a nightmare all on its own. Q was not only the perfect balance to a phoenix, who would probably have gone completely feral after its next rebirth, he was also a technopath. Something else only the head of MI6 and their Chief of Staff knew. Another lost soul, tethering on the edge, looking for an anchor.

Q and Bond. A match made in hell.

And an asset.

007 was back. His physical condition had improved to a level that almost surpassed his prior physicals from the day he had entered the service. His shooting range results were top notch. He was one hundred percent efficient again and his field work was flawless.

Because of Q.

Q looked as neutral as always, very controlled, very professional, dressed as always in his vintage hipster look. He made it work and those who had at first judged him on sight had learned their lesson. Q wasn’t to be underestimated.

Half an hour later, Mallory tried to digest the news.

He had known that the connection went a lot deeper than mere anchoring. There was no open display of affection, aside from Bond’s continued presence in Q branch when he was between assignments. But the emotions were there.

Unspoken. Not on display. Just there.

He smiled a little to himself.

He wouldn’t have believed that one himself either if anyone had told him, but he had kept tracks on the two men in his own way and he knew. It was very subtle. It was not like a normal relationship. It was just what a preternatural like Bond would do.

Mallory had no qualms about supporting this kind of relationship amongst his men. He had yet to think of a downside to the partnership. Q kept Bond human. What more could he ask for? The phoenix was an efficient killer and MI6 used that talent for their own purposes. Q made 007 manageable, was his handler, and Bond followed his directions more than any other orders.

No, Mallory wasn’t averse to that relationship.

He didn’t care whether they had a work relationship, a private, more intimate one, or despised themselves to the bone. He didn’t care if they went about it like bunnies or Vulcan style – though considering who James Bond was, Vulcan style was surely not his thing.

He almost laughed at his own thoughts.

No, he didn’t care. Bond was his best agent, Q a very efficient quartermaster who held the respect of all Double-Ohs, without exception – a quite astounding development for someone so young.

He didn’t regret it either.

He had followed the former M’s lead, even after her demise, and he had seen the good that had come from it.

Bond was still a nightmare, but a truly efficient operative.

Even if the serrated edges were still there.

Those rough, gritty and very sharp edges were Bond. It was the preternatural, the phoenix. It was just the surface of what he was and aside from Q, no one had probably ever seen the true nature of the beast.

And now this.

“How serious is this, Q?” he asked, hands clasped behind his back, looking out the window.

It was actually quite a nice day outside. Calm breeze, a few clouds in the distance heralding more rain to come, but still sunny at this time of the day.

“I believe it is under control, sir,” the younger man replied calmly.

“Do you?” M glanced at him.

Yes, Q looked very calm, very controlled. An epitome of it, actually. M was always astounded just how collected the quartermaster was under all kinds of pressure, private or work.

Like right now.

“Yes,” was the even reply.

“How much will it affect either of you?”

“Not at all, sir.”

M’s narrowed eyes didn’t faze the other man. Q simply met his doubtful gaze.

“007 went almost primal,” Mallory listed. “He stalked you. He became possessive, close to threatening other people, maybe even worse.”

“He was. He no longer is.”

“You can’t tell from one night, Q.”

“No, I can’t. I can only surmise that it is over, sir,” Q answered neutrally. “His condition was due to the very violent and never-before experienced fully physical recovery after getting shot in the head twice and then burned.”

M winced slightly. He knew that report inside out.

“The phoenix pulled a lot of energy,” Q went on like this was nothing but a simple narration. “It didn’t disperse it all throughout the resurrection or afterwards. His latest brush with death had this unfortunate side-effect.”

“And next time?”

Q shrugged a little. “I don’t know.”

M sighed, turning to look at his quartermaster. “I want there to be a reevaluation.”

“Sir?”

“Of the two of you.”

Q frowned slightly. “Both of us?”

“You’re his handler. Actually, the only one he fully accepts and respects. And you are bonded to him, Q. I know you can work under pressure, already have. What I want to make sure of is that he is able to as well.”

“I assure you, he is. 007 is perfectly capable of surviving under pressure.”

He smiled humorlessly. “Let someone else be the judge of that.”

Q looked affronted, but he finally nodded briskly. “How?”

“We have several training facilities, one up in Scotland. I believe we can schedule a few days of evaluation and training. For both of you. I’ll let you know.”

It was as good as a dismissal and Q took it as such. He simply nodded and left, shoulders a little too rigid, speaking of his slight anger.

M didn’t care. He needed a reevaluation of his best agent, as well as the only handler this agent would ever accept.

 

 

When Gareth Mallory had become head of MI6 he knew he would ‘inherit’ the nightmare that was James Bond, 007, as well. He had seen the man at his worst – maybe not the worst, he was sure the agent could be much, much more aggravating or close to the edge mentally – and he had seen his performance at the hearing. That moment had actually been the turning point for his view of 007. That man, in that moment, had been a different agent than the one walking into the old M’s office, unshaven, dressed in a tailored suit, looking tired and almost broken.

Something had happened in that time, something had let him fight back again, even though Mallory hadn’t known just what it had been.

Today he knew a lot more about who and what James Bond truly was.

Nightmare was a too mild a word for it, he mused, eyes on the Thames.

Mallory preferred this office to the one he had at MI6. For one: windows. He had a view. MI6 was located mostly in an underground bunker. Yes, there were the representative offices in a new, highly secure building, located conveniently in the middle of bustling London. Everything else, though, was underground.

Mallory poured himself a glass of scotch and sipped at it.

MI6 didn’t employ all that many supernaturals or preternaturals. He had met a few in his time, but never something this dark.

He could count himself lucky that Bond was on their side.

He would contact their training site in Scotland personally, make sure that Bond and Q would be the only ones there at the time.

Hopefully they would leave the place standing.

 

* * *

 

London in mid-March was a cold but sunny affair. Q enjoyed his lunch breaks outside, if he could. There were some small coffee shops or take-out joints nearby, or he sometimes brought his own lunch and just went to sit on a bench, watch people.

He was never outside the MI6 mainframe. His brain remained firmly logged in, monitoring just in case. He wasn’t obsessive this way. It was a precautionary method, both to avoid unwanted surprises at work and to keep himself from sliding off into something else around him.

Like smartphones, tablets, CCTV, or a simple electronic signal from a car alarm.

After his appointment with M, Q had gone to the coffee shop he preferred, a small, independent one that was owned by a young couple who baked all their own bread, pastries and cakes. It was a favorite with many MI6 employees and he knew of at least two of his underlings who regularly ordered the small assortment of pastries always available in the tiny kitchen area of Q branch.

Q nodded at the student working today, ordered a sandwich and the special from the sweet section, then took everything outside to enjoy the sun.

He wasn’t surprised to find Bond already waiting for him close by, his own choice of meal spread out.

“Fancy meeting you here, Mr. Bond,” Q remarked as he twisted the cap off his bottled water.

“Life is a series of coincidences,” was the reply.

Q chuckled. It sounded like a bad spy movie meeting.

“I thought you would already be off to enjoy your downtime.”

“I am.”

Q batted the curious, thieving fingers away from his pastry. “Get your own.”

Bond smirked and sipped his coffee. “Speaking of downtime, any plans for tonight?”

“Why, Mr. Bond, is that a proposal for a date?”

“Well, Mr. Whittmore, I think it just might be.”

Q broke the pastry in half and handed one over to his agent. “I believe my calendar shows some free time tonight.”

Bond grinned as he took the offering. “It’s a date then.” He rose, all fluid grace and lean lines.

Q watched him go, telling himself that no, he wasn’t admiring the sleek cut of that dark gray suit, how it accentuated certain assets of the preternatural very nicely.

No, he was a professional.

And he had known this man long enough, seen him in and out of those hideously expensive suits, had had his hands all over that enticing arse…

_Bloody hell_ , he thought darkly as he caught himself admiring just that asset before Bond disappeared in the crowd.

_I’m such a goner._


	10. Chapter 10

Bond took the lead through the night streets, barely any pedestrians braving the cold weather, the rainy drizzle, the late hour. Q followed, bemused. He had the collar of his coat up, an umbrella sheltering him against the rain.

They ended up in a hotel bar, sharing drinks, eating bar food that was truly delicious. Bond watched the people around him; Q watched his agent. The preternatural wasn’t as relaxed as he projected to be, but he also wasn’t in field agent mode. He was simply watchful.

“Any word about our reevaluation?” Bond asked neutrally.

“No. I believe M will let you have your vacation before someone examines us through a microscope.”

The other chuckled wryly. “They’ll be in for quite a show.”

“Will they?” Q raised an eyebrow.

“I will do my very best.”

The cool, blue eyes warmed with humor. A dark humor that promised that whoever would evaluate James Bond, he would be in for a ride.

Q felt already sorry for the man or woman.

“Making the best of your unplanned vacation?” the quartermaster asked when they left after Bond had signed a slip of paper.

“I plan to.”

Q wasn’t averse to being wined and dined.

Sometimes.

Now and then.

Just not regularly.

Q was hardly the girl in this relationship and he would creatively kill whoever said so.

But he had to confess that their relationship so far had consisted of far and few personal dinners. Their lives simply didn’t give them enough freedom for it. Bond was mostly all over the world and Q’s hours very rarely coincided with the few times they were in London together.

Those hours or even days were spent in each other’s company, but not over a candle light dinner.

And truth be told, Q couldn’t imagine it. He liked their take-out lunches or dinners. He liked them together on the couch, watching tv or just enjoying each other, the closeness, the reassurance of what they were.

He had made it clear, he hoped, that he wasn’t a conquest, a prize, a woman that needed to be courted. Bond hadn’t made any attempts either and tonight had been a normal, very late-night get-together.

The phoenix led him across the lobby and toward the elevators.

“May I ask what you are planning, 007? I have a perfectly good flat to sleep at for the night.”

“Sometimes getting away is fun.”

Q looked at him, half-scowling, half exasperated. “You booked a hotel room.”

“And you are playing with the system.”

He was and he wouldn’t feel guilty over it. Q had simply logged into the easily cracked hotel network, found reservations under one of the many aliases Bond had been set up with, and had come to his own conclusions.

Bond smirked.

Q gave him a neutral look.

“Think of it as an apology,” the agent whispered into his ear as he pushed open the hotel room door.

Q stepped inside, brows rising a little. Yes, he had seen which room Bond had made reservations for. He simply had never been inside one of those ridiculously luxurious and hideously expensive suites.

But the view was breathtaking.

London at night, lit up and only slightly blurred by the rain, was a sight to behold.

James slid an arm around his waist as he stood at the window and rested his chin on Q’s shoulder. From up here, on the top floor, the Thames was a black belt flowing past the bright lights of Buckingham Palace, the London Eye, under bridges and toward Tower Bridge.

“I never figured you as a hopeless romantic, unless a mission requires it.”

Bond chuckled, hugging him gently closer. “Maybe this is a mission.”

Q turned and glared. “Romancing me? Please, Bond! I’m hardly falling for that.”

“And I know that, Q.” He kissed his chin.

He looked into those well-known eyes and found a glint of mischief. Oh, that was not good.

“So?” he demanded.

“Do I need a reason to have you all to myself?”

Q blinked. Well, it was Saturday tomorrow and while the world of secret agents and their quartermasters didn’t believe in weekends or holidays, he didn’t have to be in tomorrow. His agent was right here and he was on forced leave. Everything else, all the projects he worked on, could wait. Aside from him, no one else would think of coming in on weekends anyway.

And M had given him stern looks and an even sterner talking to concerning his current overtime status.

Vexing indeed.

“So this is your not so covert attempt of spending a weekend with me?”

Bond’s smile was truly annoying.

“And my flat isn’t a good place for us because…?”

“I’m on vacation. You don’t spend vacations at home.”

“Only you, Bond.”

“Hm.” He nuzzled his neck.

Q sighed a little. But he enjoyed the teasing kisses and bites. He turned in the loose embrace and grabbed his agent by the suit jacket he still wore, pulling him into a firm kiss.

Bond immediately got with the program. He really didn’t have to be asked.

The cool glass of the window was at his back and Q shivered a little, then let his phoenix lead.

He didn’t mind.

It was actually more than nice.

It was bloody awesome.

 

* * *

 

Q kissed the firm chest, placing little nipping kisses over an old scar that even past rebirths hadn’t erased. It had been a knife; stab and cut.

He knew it.

It was in his agent’s file.

Bond was breathing a bit harder than normal, eyes alight with a fire that wasn’t pure phoenix, but also not purely human. The blue was brighter, the ring of black standing out like Q had never noticed before, and the soft groan as he licked over the scar very real.

His partner was a very passionate man in bed and the past hours had shown him that fact once again. Q settled over one thigh, James’ spent dick twitching only a little, and he smiled. No, not even the famous 007 could get it up again so soon after their last session.

Neither could Q.

“If this was your way of apologizing,” he whispered against Bond’s lips, his tongue flitting out, teasing against the thoroughly kissed mouth, “I accept.”

Bond drew him closer, their bodies sliding across each other, but he didn’t change their position.

“Good,” he murmured.

“Though it is cliché.”

Pale eyebrows rose over pale blue eyes.

“Dinner, hotel room, splendid view…?”

“Something wrong with that, Q?”

“Oh, a lot, but it was strangely nice.”

The preternatural gazed at him, long and hard.

“You’re not my possession,” Bond finally said, voice low and gritty. “I would never confuse you with a woman, Q. I don’t treat you as a mark or a conquest. You are my partner, my balance, my equal.”

Q met the storm and weathered it, calmly brushing a thumb over the soft skin at the edge of Bond’s left eye.

“Good apology,” he finally murmured, brushing their lips together. “And I’ll let you run with it for the whole weekend. I don’t mind getting courted now and then.”

Bond chuckled, nipping at his playful lips, his own mood changing to very playful. “Good. Because this is a private suite. It means very private. It also means all included, even the meals.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“Thought as much.”

Q continued to trace old scars, exploring, not arousing. Bond finally caught the agile fingers and curled his own around the slender digits.

“Hopeless romantic,” the quartermaster muttered and closed his eyes.

Bond just smiled. “Maybe. But you’re worth it. Because you’re everything.”

Q opened his eyes, hearing something in the tone of voice. He looked into those pale blue orbs and blinked at what he saw there.

Bond tugged him close, kissing him again. “I love you,” he whispered against the reddened lips.

It was like a strike of lightning, like getting shot, like being doused in cold water. It froze him, it electrified him, it stole his breath and paralyzed his brain.

He had heard the words before, but never again since then.

They triggered something inside him that Q couldn’t describe.

“I love you, Q,” Bond repeated.

His agent’s expression was open. Totally open. No shields. He saw everything, saw the primal beast, calm and tame and meeting Q’s eyes with a balanced quiet he had rarely witnessed like this. So total; so deep. The phoenix was waiting, hoping, wanting him but not threatening to take or use force.

This was all of Bond. Everything he was, everything he had been.

The phoenix accepted him. It loved. For the first time in its life it experienced something else than hunger or anger-fueled, single-minded rage. This wasn’t something primal, something cold and inhuman. This was warm and new.

Q was shaken by that sudden realization. The first time James had told him those words, it hadn’t been so clear, so easy to read in his eyes. Now… now he was completely open.

He framed the ruggedly handsome face, kissing the slightly chapped lips.

“I love you,” he murmured.

Bond’s arms came around him, held him tight, and he buried his face in the warm neck of his technopath.

Q held him, feeling the fine tremors. He closed his eyes, smiling gently. He kissed one temple.

They moved until Q had Bond’s head cushioned on his chest, scratching his fingers through the short hair, feeling and hearing the contented sigh. James threw an arm over the slender waist, holding him close, and Q smiled.

 

* * *

 

Finch had to hold back a chuckle when Q emailed him an ‘all clear, all done’. Apparently the phoenix in Bond had finally quieted down and accepted the very open and indisputable fact that Q wasn’t going anywhere, wouldn’t accept anyone else as his partner, and that the connection between them was unbreakable.

Yes, sometimes instincts were a hardship, he mused.

Reese had been correct when he had mentioned the predator, the primal being that didn’t think like a human being. The phoenix took what it wanted and it fought to death for what it protected. The changes Bond had gone through had happened in a rather short amount of time, especially compared to the years before. The man had never had anyone to balance him, to hold him, to leash him if necessary, and now he had not only found that very person; he had also taken the bond to another level altogether.

It wasn’t all that surprising that something had had to give. That it had been control and logical thinking had been the surprise in the whole matter. At least he was back on track with both now.

“Good news?”

The sleepy rumble, low and soft and quite endearing, had Finch look at his bed partner. Reese, naked and in all his glory, regarded him with a faint, teasing smile. It looked almost amusedly tolerant of the fact that the cipher had his laptop with him in bed.

“Very,” Harold replied, eyes straying over the lean lines of muscle and warm skin.

He didn’t think he would ever get tired of just looking at his agent.

He was a very lucky man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm already working on an almost-direct-sequel to this one, which will involve another crossover with POI, this time with equal screen time for both teams. There will be more on M's rather outrageous idea of an evaluation of both Q and Bond in it :)


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